


Keep Warm

by bashert



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Flu, Fluff, Post-Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 19:23:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2121771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bashert/pseuds/bashert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"You couldn't tell," she reassures, although that's not exactly true. She could tell, but that's only because she's attuned to Will in a way that would be pathetic if it wasn't so wonderful. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Warm

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the Ingrid Michaelson song. And I needed some fluff today, so this is what happened.

It takes 42 seconds to walk from the elevator to their bedroom.

Mac’s counted.

So when she hears the elevator doors slide open, she begins counting down in her head until she hears Will step inside their room, 42 seconds later, sighing loudly as he shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it on a chair.

Mac knows him well enough to know that he _wants_ her to be awake, but he feels guilty about that, so he won’t actually wake her. Instead he’ll huff and sigh and sulk until she admits that she’s been awake the whole time (it’s borderline ridiculous how quickly she fell back into the routine of sleeping next to him. It took no time at all to get used to his nighttime quirks and habits again, and now she can’t sleep without his warm body stretched out next to hers).

She takes pity on him after she hears him sigh loudly for the third time.

“I’m awake,” she speaks up, her voice gravely from disuse and the fever that she can’t seem to kick.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Will’s voice is tinged with regret.

“I was up,” she tells him, sliding up into a seated position. “I watched the show.” Will stiffens, his hand stilling at the tie hanging loosely around his neck.

“It was fucking awful,” he complains, sinking down onto the bed. Mac reaches out a hand and brushes her fingers over his back. He leans back until his head is in her lap, and she buries her fingers in his hair, scraping his scalp lightly.  Will closes his eyes.

"You couldn't tell," she reassures, although that's not exactly true. _She_ could tell, but that's only because she's attuned to Will in a way that would be pathetic if it wasn't so wonderful. The average viewer wouldn't have been able to tell that the anchor was tense, his shoulders set and his mouth slightly turned down. All signs that he was really, very unhappy about something.

Will scoffs at her reassurances, reaching up to still the hand in his hair, threading his fingers through hers.

"Liar." He pulls her hand down to his mouth, ghosting a light kiss across her fingertips.

"I'll be back tomorrow," she promises.

Her unexpected absence is Gary’s fault. Gary, who came to work sick with the flu and so generously passed it on to her. Despite crossing her fingers and drinking as much orange juice as she could stomach, she woke up with a high fever, a pounding headache, and her throat on fire. Will frowned as he felt her forehead and told her that he thought she should stay home. It was apparent to both of them how terrible she felt when she agreed without argument, pulling the covers over her head and burying her aching head in a pillow. Will appointed himself her personal caretaker, and though she teased him mercilessly (calling him Nurse Nightingale and other various nicknames along that vein), she’s secretly enjoying all of the attention he’s been lavishing on her (among the many things she loves about him is his innate need to take care of those he loves. He's gone above and beyond, running to the pharmacy in the middle of the night to buy cough drops and sending an intern all the way across town to some deli with a kind of soup she likes, and delivering it to the apartment). Will always _was_ good at making her feel like she was the single most important person in the world (or at least, _his_ world). She offered, half-heartedly, to go into work earlier, having finally felt something more resembling a human, but he had insisted that they would be fine without her, and that she should rest.

While Mac appreciates his concern, she's itching to get back in her control room. She _is_ feeling better, and feeling better means that she’s also beginning to get bored just staying in bed. She wants to go back to work, and this desire is compounded by the total and complete _disaster_ that was the show tonight. She suspects she might get an argument from Will, but she's absolutely going to insist that she do the show tomorrow.

"How are you feeling?" Will asks, opening his eyes and looking up at her. "If you aren't feeling up to it tomorrow...."

"I'm fine," she tells him, giving his hand a squeeze. He raises an eyebrow, and she clarifies, "I mean, I couldn't run a marathon or anything, but I can do the show tomorrow." He makes a noise that's neither an agreement or disagreement with her assessment, and hauls himself up.

She waits while he changes, throwing off his clothes and stripping down to just his boxers, tugging an old, worn t-shirt over his head. He slides under the covers, reaching out and pulling her body towards his.

"You aren't as warm," he observes.

"I really _am_ feeling better," she says, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. He dips down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

"Good, because, _fuck_ , I need you to come back."

"You're useless without me," she teases lightly.

"I wouldn't use the word useless," he objects, and his fingers trail down her back. "We just work better as a team."

"Mmm hmm," she laughs as she feels his huff under her cheek. Her head finally isn’t as foggy, and the warmth of Will's body isn't as suffocating now that she's on the mend. It's just _nice_ , curled up beside him, and she half wants to try to convince him to play hooky in the morning (and she doesn’t think it’d be that hard of a sell, to be honest. They’re both making more of an effort to have a better life/work balance). They could easily convince Charlie that Will was felled by whatever Mac had and stay in bed all day, tangled up in one another. It sounds wonderful.

She _had_ been afraid of Will catching this flu. She had tried to convince him to keep his distance when she first got sick, but he had been as adamant about staying near her as she was about him staying away.

"If I get it, I get it. I'm not sleeping in another room. What if you need something? You can barely move," he argued.

"I lived alone much longer than I've lived with you, I can take care of myself," she pointed out, but her argument was undermined as she dissolved into a coughing fit which made Will's brows slope down in concern.

Truth be told, Mac wasn't too sorry to lose that battle, not when she woke in the middle of the night to stumble towards the bathroom and Will appeared right behind her, his hand warm and comforting on her back. He wiped her hot, fevered face with a cool cloth and a gentle touch, and helped her back into bed, tucking the blankets around her.

But so far, so good. He somehow hadn't caught what she had ("Thanks to my superior immune system," he had boasted, and she rolled her eyes. "All that fresh, country air growing up"), and she couldn't help but think they might have dodged that particular bullet (Will wasn't exactly a model patient. He was usually surly and downright whiney, and she'd just as rather avoid that, _thank you very much_. She promised in sickness or in health, and she meant it, but still and all).

“Admittedly, the show is better when you’re there,” Will admits, his hand still running gently up and down her back. It’s soothing, and she feels herself start to drift off to sleep. “We’ve got chemistry.”

“I should think so,” she replies, her voice drowsy with sleep. And she can practically feel his grin as he drops another kiss into her hair.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

“I’ll be in top form tomorrow,” her words are slightly slurred, but she can’t bring herself to care. She can’t bring herself to care much about _anything_ not contained within this bed at this particular moment.

“Thank God,” he breathes. “After the past few days without you, I’ve decided you’re never allowed to get sick again.” She hums an agreement, and tucked next to Will, his arms solidly around her, his hand tracing patterns on her back, _finally_ feeling better, she's asleep within seconds.


End file.
